“His lordship’s favorite pastime is to be annoying by day and wicked by night,” Delia said less than cordially, obviously still chafing at the way he’d ingratiated himself into her household.
“I beg your pardon.” Warren sipped his wine as he stared her down. “I try to be wicked by day as well. I’m wounded that you haven’t noticed.”
“I noticed.” Lady Pensworth eyed him over her glass of wine. “And it’s hardly something to brag about, sir.”
“His lordship fancies himself above the rules of society,” Delia said with a lift of her pretty raven brow.
“For a woman I only met yesterday,” he drawled, “you have a great many ideas about my favorite pastimes and what I fancy. In any case, I find that the only firm rule in society is to not be boring.”
“Perhaps that’s the rule for marquesses.” She held up her own glass. “The rest of us are required to behave.”
He stifled a retort involving pots and kettles, but he wasn’t ready to unveil Delia’s nighttime activities to her family yet. She’d made some valid points in the garden about how it could ruin her life.
“Lord Knightford,” Mrs. Trevor put in hastily, as if to smooth things over, “I do hope that gambling isn’t one of your wicked pastimes.”
Odd that she’d chosen that particular vice. Could the woman be privy to Delia’s secrets? “Surely gambling is everyone’s wicked pastime. Why, do you disapprove of it?”
“I disapprove of what it does to families. My father and late husband were both gamblers.” Mrs. Trevor’s eyes darkened as she toyed with her lobster salad. “That didn’t turn out well for any of us.”
Belatedly he remembered the gossip at the club. “Does that mean none of you play cards?”
“Don’t be silly,” Lady Pensworth put in. “Everyone plays cards. We just don’t gamble. Not even Delia, though she could if she wished. Piquet is her forte.”
“Is it? I happen to like piquet myself.” He cast Delia a veiled glance, noting the color brightening her cheeks. “She and I shall have to play sometime.”
“Be careful,” Mrs. Trevor warned. “She’s quite good. The whole Trevor family is.”
“Including you?” he asked.
“Oh no. I’m horrible.”
“Only because you hate figures,” Delia said.
“I do not hate figures,” Mrs. Trevor protested. “I just want them to add up and be logical. How does it make sense for an ace to beat a king? Or sometimes not? If it’s a one, it should always be a one. Honestly, I don’t know who comes up with these lackadaisical rules.”
“They’re no more lackadaisical than the rules for playing the violin, I would imagine, and you love that.” Delia leaned toward Warren. “Brilliana not only draws magnificently, but she plays the violin to perfection. I can’t even play the pianoforte. I’m all thumbs when it comes to instruments.”
That remark just begged for a double entendre, but he knew better than to shock the ladies.
“Still,” Mrs. Trevor put in, “Reynold thought me a dunce because I couldn’t keep the rules for vingt-un straight. And piquet! Might as well have asked me to perform astronomy calculations in my head. Now that’s a convoluted card game.”
“I doubt that he thought you a dunce,” Lady Pensworth put in. “And if he did, he should have had his knuckles rapped for it.” She leaned toward Warren. “My nephew and Delia played piquet practically every day from childhood on. They led us all a merry dance at the card tables when my husband was still alive. They learned it from their father, my sister’s husband, you see.”
Their father. Something niggled in the back of his mind. The name Trevor. Gambling.
Good God. He stared at Delia. “Your father was Captain Mace Trevor?”
She looked startled. “You’ve heard of him?”
“Everyone’s heard of him. I was at the game where he won an estate from Sir Geoffrey eleven years ago.” It had been a masterful bit of whist playing. “Your father wasn’t seen in gaming hells or clubs from that night on.”
“No,” Delia said stiffly. “Mama insisted that he stay put once they had obtained Camden Hall. And miraculously, he agreed.”
“Why ‘miraculously’?”
“Because until then,” she said with a decided note of bitterness, “he’d dragged our family around the world while he was an army officer during the war and then while he gambled his way across Europe. I think Mama found it exciting at first, but it grew old. Eventually he heeded her request that he settle down. Unfortunately, she didn’t get to enjoy it for long.” The quick flash of sorrow over Delia’s face spoke volumes.
“Given your presence in London without her, I take it that she is no longer—”
“She passed away when I was sixteen,” Delia said.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He truly was. He somehow suspected that her mother’s death had been part of what had changed her into the wary woman sitting across from him now. “And your father?”
She drew into herself. “The following year.”
“Ah. I remember reading about that in the papers.” Warren still couldn’t believe Delia was the daughter of Mace Trevor, though now that he thought about it, he could see the resemblance—especially in those keen eyes and the pugnacious chin.
“That’s why Delia is just now having her debut,” Mrs. Trevor explained. “My father-in-law died before she was old enough to be presented, and then my husband was always too busy at Camden Hall to bring us to London for any extended period.”
Lady Pensworth sniffed. “Yet not too busy to come here and—”
“Aunt Agatha, please,” Delia said in an undertone.
“Oh, very well. This topic of conversation has grown rather morbid, anyway,” Lady Pensworth said. “Why don’t we speak of something cheerier?”
“I know!” Mrs. Trevor exclaimed, her brown eyes twinkling. “We should plan when Delia and Lord Knightford are going to have their piquet match. I confess I’m eager to see if he can beat her.”
“Of course he can. And will, I’m sure,” Lady Pensworth said with a warning glance at Mrs. Trevor.
The young woman blinked at the baroness. “I’m not sure at all. Did you not hear me say how very good she is?”
Warren chuckled. “I believe Lady Pensworth is trying to spare my fragile male pride.”
“I see.” Mrs. Trevor arched an eyebrow at him. “I should hope that your pride isn’t wounded by something as trivial as being beaten at cards.”
“No, my male pride is quite capable of withstanding that,” he said, ignoring the way Delia was trying—and failing—to smother a laugh.
“Then the game should be soon,” Mrs. Trevor said. “Perhaps sometime next week?”
Delia’s amusement vanished. “I’m sure his lordship has better things to do than—”
“Would you stop answering for me about my schedule?” he said irritably. “I know what things I have to do. Besides, I have no firm—” He paused, a brilliant idea coming to him. He wanted to prevent Delia from taking these mad risks. And now, he had an excellent means for doing so. “My only firm commitment is Clarissa’s house party. You are all going, aren’t you? I know you were invited.”
“I’m afraid—” Delia began.
“You’re attending, Knightford?” her aunt hastened to say.
“Of course. It’s being given by my best friend and my cousin. Why wouldn’t I be there?”
“Because you never go to house parties?” Delia said.
“Not ‘never.’ Rarely. And in any case, how did you happen to know that?” He cast her a speculative look. “Have you been listening to gossip about me again?”
She didn’t so much as blush, though she jerked her gaze from him. “It’s hard not to listen when there’s so much of it. And you don’t go to house parties because you’re too busy spending your nights in the stews.”
“Delia!” Mrs. Trevor said.
“Well, it’s true,” she said sullenly.
He chuckle
d. “It is indeed. But I can do without wickedness for a few nights. The question is, can you?”
Though the other two women gaped at him, Delia said smoothly, “Of course I can. I do without wickedness every day.”
“Do you?” He shouldn’t toy with her. But there was something profoundly satisfying about skirting the edges of the truth and watching her squirm. “I thought everyone enjoyed a bit of wickedness now and then.”
“Not respectable young ladies, I should hope,” Lady Pensworth said, peering balefully at him over the top of her spectacles.
“Certainly not this young lady,” Delia said. “We aren’t all like you, sir. I prefer tamer entertainments. And I can find those anywhere.”
Delia’s mutinous expression fairly dared him to spill her secrets, and he was sorely tempted to do so. But as she’d said, it would merely convince her aunt to banish her to Cheshire, which wouldn’t help her situation.
Though he had an idea of what would. “Tamer entertainments do exist everywhere. Especially at house parties. So I see no reason for you not to attend Clarissa’s.”
Her eyes sparked fires. “We’re not talking about my attendance,” she said irritably. “We’re talking about yours. I suspect you will find it quite dull.”
“Not if you’re there,” he said flat-out.
To his satisfaction, she blushed. And the other two women exchanged glances.
“You know perfectly well that you don’t care if I go or not,” she said.
“I know no such thing. Why, have you decided not to go?”
“Don’t be absurd,” Lady Pensworth broke in. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Delia blinked. “But . . . But Brilliana cannot go. She won’t want to leave Silas. Besides, she’s in mourning, so it wouldn’t be at all proper. And I would feel awful going without her.”
“First of all,” Lady Pensworth said, “Silas can stay with the nurse for a few days. It won’t hurt anything. Secondly, Brilliana has mourned a full year this week. It would do her good to be around some lively young people after a year in widow’s weeds. And you, too.”
“Still—” Delia began.
“I never was comfortable with refusing the invitation, niece,” her aunt went on, “but you assured me that there would be no young persons there other than the Blakeboroughs.”
“That’s what Clarissa said,” Delia protested, a lie if he’d ever heard one.
“You must have misunderstood my cousin,” he interjected.
“Indeed,” Lady Pensworth said.
“And I would like to attend,” Mrs. Trevor said. “It sounds lovely.”
“You see?” Lady Pensworth said. “Besides, if Lord Knightford is going, there will clearly be at least one young person in attendance, and more will follow once they hear that a man of his consequence will be there. So we are going. All of us.” She nodded at him. “Especially since his lordship is taking such care to press the invitation. I shall send my response today, Knightford. If you think it’s not too late.”
“I know it’s not too late.” The urge to crow his triumph died when he saw the murderous look on Delia’s face. “Don’t worry, Miss Trevor. I’m sure it will be an entertaining week.”
Not that it mattered. What mattered was keeping Delia out of trouble for a while. And she couldn’t be gambling at Dickson’s if she was at Stoke Towers in Hertfordshire.
Luncheon was nearly finished, and he’d done what he’d come to do. So after a few more moments of polite conversation, during which Delia glared at him rather fetchingly, he told them he regretted that he had more calls to make.
When he rose to leave, Delia stood, too. “I’ll see his lordship out.”
“Why, thank you, dear girl,” her aunt said. “I’m sure he would get lost otherwise.”
Ignoring her aunt’s tart remark, Delia led him from the room. As soon as they were in the hall and out of earshot, she muttered, “That was a dirty trick.”
“You mean like the dirty trick you played last night by dumping a bottle of wine into my lap? You ruined a perfectly good shirt, you know.”
“Is that why you’re tormenting me today? I can pay you for the shirt.”
“I don’t doubt you can. Given the rumors I heard at Dickson’s, you must have acquired a tidy sum by now. You ought to quit before you’re caught.” He shot her a quelling glance.
Judging from her scowl, she wasn’t the least bit quelled. “Is that a threat? If I don’t quit, you’ll tell my aunt?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
She glanced about, saw no one near, and tugged him into the parlor they were passing. “What do I have to do to ensure that you allow me to continue my activities? I’m sure I have something you want.”
He raked his gaze down her fetching form. “Oh, you have plenty I want, but nothing I can have.”
Though she colored at the innuendo, she met his gaze evenly. “That’s not true.” There was a hint of desperation in her tone. “I know you probably don’t find me that pretty, but you did seem to enjoy our kisses in the garden and . . . well . . . I would be willing . . . that is . . .”
God help him. “I do hope you’re not implying what I think you are,” he clipped out.
Her cheeks shone scarlet now. “I’m just pointing out that if you wanted to, as you put it, ‘satisfy’ your desires ‘without marrying’—”
“I would go to a bloody brothel.” Anger roared up in him that she would even consider selling herself to keep him quiet. Or think him the sort to gleefully accept such an offer. “You may not believe this, but I am a respectable gentleman. I do not blackmail young women into giving me their virtue. Good day, Miss Trevor.”
When he turned for the door, she caught his arm. “It wouldn’t be like that. I’d offer myself freely.”
He glared down at her. “Would you, indeed?” She clearly actually believed that nonsense. Either that, or their dalliance in the garden had filled her head with moonbeams. Time to shatter that delusion.
Giving her no warning, he pushed her against the wall behind the open door and crushed her lips under his. This time he took her mouth with merciless disregard for her stunned response. And when, to his mingled shock and delight, she let him, he went a step further, allowing one hand to roam freely over her lush hips and the other to cover one breast.
Shamelessly he fondled the soft flesh through her gown and reveled, despite himself, in the hardening of her nipple. With his other hand, he pulled her against the growing thickness in his trousers.
Apparently that had an effect on her at last. She tore her lips from his and shoved against his chest, her eyes wide and wary. He broke away, his blood racing and his breath coming as hard as hers.
“You’d offer yourself freely,” he growled. “Right.” He bent toward her and she flinched, which annoyed him even though he’d deliberately tried to put her on her guard. “As freely as a sacrificial lamb to the altar. No thank you. I do not need a martyr in my bed. Especially one who would regret what she’d done as soon as it was over.”
She swallowed. “I wouldn’t.”
“Well, I would. Because much as I would relish having you beneath me, writhing in the throes of passion, I’m not fool enough to succumb to such temptation when it can only lead straight to a parson’s mousetrap.”
“I am not trying to trap you into marriage,” she protested.
“I know that. But I also know that seduction is a dangerous game, and sometimes the outcome is beyond one’s control.”
“I—I could be discreet.”
“The way you’ve been discreet in the gaming hells?”
Their mouths were a breath apart, and he fought the urge to close that distance, to take her mouth more gently, explore it more thoroughly . . . throw caution to the winds.
He must have shown the mad urge in his gaze somehow, for her expression turned determined. “We might get along quite well together.” As if to make certain he understood, she added, “In the bed, you know.”
<
br /> Bloody hell, those words brought all his need roaring to life again. God preserve him from females whose curiosity about desire was stirred up by a few kisses. Especially when they made him so hard, it hurt.
Uttering a harsh laugh, he braced his hands against the wall on either side of her head. “Trust me, if you and I were ever to share a bed, there would be no ‘might’ about it. We would do quite well together.”
Skimming his lips down her cheek to her ear and then to her neck, he tongued the pulse at her throat before murmuring, “Very well, I suspect. Despite your assertions earlier, there’s a craving for wickedness lurking inside that labyrinthine soul of yours.”
He waited until her breath had quickened and her eyes had closed before shoving away from the wall. “But I won’t be the one to satisfy it, I assure you.”
Her eyes shot open, a strange mix of regret and wounded pride shining in them before they cooled to ice. “Then I guess there’s no more to be said.”
“Oh, there’s one thing more.” He put a hint of threat in his voice. “Don’t go to Dickson’s again. Because I fully intend to be there every night until the house party. And if you show up at the gaming hell, I will expose you.”
It was a bluff, of course. Revealing her true identity in that place would drag not only her through a scandal but her aunt and her sister-in-law as well, and he wasn’t cruel enough to do that. He was trying to help her, not ruin her.
She stiffened. “Then it will be your fault when Brilliana and my nephew and I find ourselves shunned by society.”
Damn her for calling his bluff. “For God’s sake, if it’s money you need, I can loan you some.”
That was the wrong thing to say. She drew herself up like a beleaguered queen. “We do not need your charity, sir. Besides, taking a loan from you would ruin us as effectively as your exposing my gaming.”
She was right, unfortunately. Frustrated, he dragged one hand through his hair. “You are the most infuriating, annoying chit I’ve ever met.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “I highly doubt that. And you’re just angry that you can’t blackmail or bully me into doing what you please.”
The Danger of Desire Page 8
